Archive for the 'Uncategorized' Category
Sampurna Chattarji: In response to the latest image
Monday, January 30th, 2012Unpeel the imminent skin,
fissure the smooth beginning with
the knowledge of brows
that will pucker in disbelief,
this is not the face we knew,
this ravaged circuitry is another
way of acknowledging defeat,
who exposed it to our
eyes?
Sampurna Chattarji: Champion the soldier of the current,
Friday, January 20th, 2012the livid angel who sings violet songs of praise,
there is no other warning except the one inside your chest,
open and you shall see, warm, good-looking,
the season of seasons,
every whiff of narrowness gone, bold, bolder still,
the cher ami from foreign songs,
this foreign body inside my eye blinds me,
like a tubular rose, rising towards the sun.
Sampurna Chattarji: Good morning merry sunshine,
Tuesday, January 17th, 2012foam on the lips of the sea,
cappuccino foam, foam that is home to horses,
the glandular hand, joints like wires, like sails,
each tiny door in your morning, good,
like the truth of teeth, smiling,
each tool we use to fix the way the day turns,
tightening every screw.
Body Clock: II
Monday, October 10th, 2011Every hour the bird strikes. A coo at one, a caw at two. By the time it’s three she is thinking of seed, and the way that wings destroy sleep. She has never seen a woodpigeon or a woodchuck. At four the mockingbird returns. Beaks into minutes. One insistent peck at a time, the trunk riddled. Colour leaves her hair, nests elsewhere. A squawk at six, a shriek at seven. Give me a sec, she says, too hurried to finish that already small word. Forefinger on neck, she confirms she is alive.
A vortex (AYBM) with the sun (S) in the center. Materia in different forms tends to move away from the centre. One form of materia is spherical.
Wednesday, October 5th, 2011René Descartes ( 1596-1650), Principia Philosophia ( Amsterdam: Ludovicus Elzevirius, 1650), Zentralbibliothek Zürich, Alte Drucke und Rara, FF 91, p. 129
Für Barbara, …leider einen Tag zu spät
Thursday, July 28th, 2011Sampurna Chattarji (In response to the thread of new images on the blog)
Wednesday, June 1st, 2011The rubber glove waits to be filled with flesh
before it enters into soap and water,
into tissue and nerve, into orifice.
Its pinkness is the travesty of dolls.
Rubber boots can be grey verging on blue
before merging into other feet clad only in skin.
The colour of paper keeps changing.
Your knee is a hinge. Then why isn’t your leg
a door that I can open and close behind me,
entering a country the shape of a boot, a glove?





